Atrophy
by shadowen90
Summary: It never occurred to the Joker that a captive was anything other than simply property. It never occurred to Sakura that her life would take a dramatic turn on an ordinary night. Set before and during TDK. Rated M for language and seriously racy bits.
1. The Beginning

**A/N: Hi everybody! It's been forever and a day since I've posted anything on here, so…yeah, I hope this works out. I really enjoy this story a lot. It's far from being done (those little plot bunnies just keep popping up out of nowhere!) but I hope it's enjoyable enough to the dear readers that I can continue it. Um…yeah! R/R of course. Let the games begin! Sweet Jebus, the html for this stuff is confusing...  
**

**Disclaimer: Just about everything belongs to Chris Nolan/DC Comics, etc. Sakura belongs to me.**

* * *

ATROPHY

* * *

She was a professional dancer, graceful and powerful, beautiful and wonderful; the perfect woman. He was a hardened killer, a freak to the rest of the world who wore clown makeup and manipulated mob bosses for fun.

He could barely wrap his mind around the fact that he had her in his bed.

Her skin was so perfectly soft and warm under his touch, like…that puppy he remembered petting as a kid, just not…furry. He had wanted to wear his gloves for this, but she had overpowered him in a burst of strength he was surprised that even she had (her profession required her to have a great deal of muscle) and removed the apparently offensive things covering his hands while she straddled him on his bed. His face was hot and flushed as he touched her; she knew of the scars on his face and his chest and back and stomach, had seen him with his shirt off plenty of times, but he still found himself to be self-conscious of the jagged white lines that stood out against his pale flesh. But it seemed she didn't mind.

She was covering him with hot kisses, leaving no inch of flesh on his torso untouched by her tongue and fingers, including his hands. She was gentle in her touch and surprisingly confident. He found it peculiar that she was so bold.

After all, she came under his…care after he'd stolen her from an earlier predicament.

* * *

The Joker prowled the streets of Gotham at night on occasion, when he wasn't harassing the mob. One such night, he had heard the voice of a yelling woman: "Get…fuck off…goddamn motherfucking bastard!" He only heard snatches of that spicy sentence, but its meaning was clear. A woman was being attacked; whether it was by a stranger or not didn't matter. He found domestic violence of all forms as well as rape disgusting when it came to people he cared about, who, not so ironically, he could count on one hand.

He killed for fun and knew what the world thought of him for it, but he never preyed on the weak simply because of their position to him. He had always thought that those that felt they had the right to abuse someone or something that depended on them were sick people that deserved to be punished themselves.

Anyways, he was curious. Something about the woman's voice was calling him to her. Maybe it was the way she'd used several obscenities in one sentence. But he had come across a struggling woman two alleyways down, the one behind the dance theater, being held against a wall by a big burly man, probably a drunken body-builder with a machismo disorder. This man, pants down around his ankles, was forcing his victim's legs open, growling profanity under his breath as he fought to hold the woman still, which was proving to be a difficult task. She fought him at every turn, twisting her body, squirming like a stubborn toddler; she even went so far as to bite her assailant's hand when it came up to cup her face. The man howled in pain, but did not let go.

"You crazy bitch, you need to learn some manners! I swear to God I'll make you regret what you just did."

The next moment, the woman's would-be rapist was dead.

The Joker had broken his neck, come up behind like a ghost in the night and twisted the idiot's head around so fast his spinal column snapped with a loud, satisfying crack, like cartilage from a chicken being bitten. The Joker grinned, flashing yellowed teeth, happy with what he had done. There really wasn't anything like killing for a good cause. But this woman that he'd saved, someone he felt should be grateful for what he did, was different.

He had seen plenty of pretty women over the course of his lifetime, but this woman…was radiant, even in the half-lit gloom of the alley behind the theatre. She had slid to the ground in shock after her attacker had been killed, but even so, the Joker could tell she was tall and skinny, a dancer type, muscled and well-defined, with plenty of curves to go along with it. She had a delicate face framed by long, straight, silky-looking red hair, pale skin, and striking blue eyes. But she was staring at him wide-eyed, like a deer in head-lights.

That thought made him giggle. She did look a bit doe-ish. Well, sort of.

"Look now, sweet-cheeks…"

In the few moments it took for him to step towards her, she'd scrambled to her feet and was running back towards the theater exit. She was mighty fast in heels, but he caught up with her fairly easily, wrapping his arms around her neck in a chokehold.

"Now, now, little lady, I'm not here to hurt you, but I can't just have you wander off and tell everybody about our little rendezvous, can I?"

She was struggling against him too; the more air she lost, the more she fought him. She would pass out in just a few moments…

She elbowed him in the stomach, something he hadn't planned on. He let go with a loud "Oof!" and a manic giggle and she took off again, wobbly from lack of oxygen. He liked her; she had spirit, and those with spirit were always the most fun to break.

It was almost effortless this time to catch her, but he made sure she couldn't jab at him again. "Ah ah, you pretty thing, that simply will not do." She was choking… choking… struggling…. Her movements were losing their power…and she had passed out in his arms. He couldn't help but notice that she had a beautiful neck as her head lolled back against his shoulder. He smirked.

She would have bruises in the morning.


	2. His Story

**A/N: Hmkay, here's chapter two. I thought I'd add this pretty quickly, since the way the first chapter ended was just…I dunno, not quite conclusive enough. So here it is! The Joker and Sakura meet officially for the first time. Whee! Let his reign of terror rule forever!**

**Disclaimer: Joksie still not mine, he belongs to DC Comics, Leon (only mentioned in this chapter) belongs to Capcom, Sakura is mine.**

* * *

Something smelled of coffee.

Sakura thought it was odd. She never drank coffee on a regular basis, and when she did it was with her best friend Leon from the small mom-and-pop shop down the street from her Gotham City apartment. Either she'd passed out in a Starbucks, or…

It took a great deal of effort to open her eyes; once she'd managed it, it took an even greater deal of effort to focus them. She shook her head, throwing an arm over her face as she tried to steady herself. She felt sick to her stomach and sore as hell, especially around her neck. She tried in vain to sit up; trying made her head swim and her stomach threaten to empty its contents rather violently.

"Jesus Christ, what _happened_ last night?" she moaned to herself.

"Oh, nothing."

She did sit up with this attempt, gasping, bloodshot eyes wide. She was in an unfamiliar room. It had horrible blue wallpaper with white trim, but what Sakura noticed was the distinct lack of windows. The only light was coming from a grossly vintage white lamp on the table beside the bed she had been laying on. She looked around her for the source of the voice, but found nothing. It was that same voice from last night, the voice that had come from that face covered in clown makeup. The face of the infamous killer, The Joker.

"Behind you, sweetheart."

Sakura spun to her feet and whirled around, hair whipping out behind her, and what she saw made her feel as though her heart and lungs had ceased to function. There he was, sitting casually at a small table on the other side of the bed, sipping at a mug of coffee with a newspaper in hand. And he was _grinning _at her. She couldn't move her eyes away from his mouth…

"Not so fast, angel," he said as he set his mug down and stood up. "You had quite a rough night. You wouldn't want to fall over again, would you? You could break that pretty neck of yours."

Sakura began backing away as fast as she could, despite the fact that she felt dizzy and disoriented. All she knew was that she had to get as far away from this madman as quickly as was possible in her state. But she just couldn't take her eyes off him….

He was following her, crossing the room in long strides, and the look in his eyes made her think instantly of a wolf stalking its prey, circling it, giving it just enough time to be nervous before pouncing. But Sakura was far from nervous: she was petrified. Jesus Christ, he had a _knife_ in one of his hands!

She gasped loudly, a heavy, sinking feeling of dread filling her belly, when her back met the wall. Where in the fuck was the door?!

The sinking got lower as she realized it was on the other side of the room. She had trapped herself. And he was advancing, his leer widening, reaching out to her with both arms like he expected to hug her or something. She visibly flinched, her eyes clenching shut, when the hand that wasn't holding the knife settled on one side of her head, like he was pinning her to the wall. A whimper escaped her throat.

"Aw, what's wrong, peaches?" he practically purred. "Why so nervous? I'm not that scary, am I? Am I?"

Sakura couldn't bring herself to open her eyes or mouth. Under normal circumstances, if this were any other guy, she would have shot back a retort so bitterly sarcastic, her assailant could drop dead on the spot. But this was The Joker, the man so famous for killing innocent people and laughing 

about it. He could cut out her liver and force her to eat it if he wanted to. His presence was overpowering; it was crushing her, suffocating her in this tiny little room and no one knew she was there. No one was coming to save her.

"Is it the scars? Is that it?"

Sakura managed to open her eyes wide enough to see that he was gazing into her face imploringly, quite obviously mocking her.

"Do you wanna know how I got 'em?"

Her eyes were shut tight again when the hand holding the knife grabbed at her chin and the hand against the wall seized the back of her neck. "Look at me," he told her, his voice soft and low. She couldn't do it. She couldn't open her eyes. She was too scared to move a single muscle.

"_Look at me_!"

She couldn't help it at that point. His voice had become a cross between roar and a growl and that deep hissing promise that he would hurt her if she didn't obey immediately startled her into throwing her eyelids wide open again.

He began slowly, in a calmer tone this time. "I had a daughter." He paused to lick his lips. "Very smart kid, always loved going to school. She was the light of my life, always smiling, always telling me that I need to stop worrying so much. Until one day, on her way home from school, she gets caught in the middle of a gang war. She's shot in the face; her bones and tissues are destroyed." Sakura flinched as he nearly hissed those gruesome words. "The docs say it's a miracle she can still see and breathe. Her mommy's not around to help pay for surgery, and I have no money, so the kid is left with half a face. She's down all the time. So I decide to help make her feel better, to show her that daddy still loves her very much. So I take a razor to my lips and do this…" He licked at the corners of his mouth, 'to myself. But daddy's little girl is too terrified of me to be around me anymore. So she runs off to go live with mommy and I never see her again." He paused again, his tongue laving luxuriously over the gaudy red makeup on his lips. "But you know what? I found the bright side. Now I'm always smiling."

Where Sakura found the courage and strength to bring her knee into the Joker's groin, she had no idea. But he went down laughing hysterically, a hand cradling his injured parts while he landed on all fours, which gave Sakura enough room to make a run for it. Her luck ran out fairly quickly, however; the moment she passed the Joker, one of his hands shot out to grab her ankle and she too fell to the floor with a loud thump.

"Don't think so, little lady," he rasped at her, relinquishing his hold on her ankle to take a firmer grip on her waist and then her shoulders. She was still thrashing, trying to throw him off, but to no avail. Shivers of disgust rippled up and down her spine when he bent down to whisper in her ear. "Hate to say it, hon, but you're mine now." With that said, he brought his tongue out to lick at the side of her face. His breath was hot on her skin and it made her shudder.

"Boys!" the Joker shouted as he sat up far enough for the sound of his voice to carry. "Bring the chains! We have to teach our guest a few manners."


	3. Battle of Wills

**A/N: Ok guys. I got one of the most bitchtastic reviews I've seen in a long while (I **_**have **_**seen worse :P) earlier. And I'm going to let you all know something. Here it comes. Prep yourselves.**

_**If you don't fucking like what I write, don't fucking read it.**_

**I'm perfectly happy with constructive criticism. In fact, I like it. That's one thing. But blatant flaming is something different. And blatant flaming without even so much as leaving a name so I might be able to defend myself is just-off-the-charts cowardly. Honestly, people. What I read made it painfully obvious that this person didn't really read anything beyond the first few paragraphs.**

**I completely understand why people hate those Mary-Sue-turns-the-Joker-from-a-freakish-psychotic-killer-into-a-good-guy stories. I hate them too. They're cliché and ridiculous. And I've tried very **_**very **_**hard to stay away from that. I didn't want to bring this up now, but apparently I have to. I don't believe the Joker can be fixed. But Sakura believes, like so many real life women believe about their boyfriends or what have you, that she can fix him. She will attempt to. But I DO NOT believe the Joker can feel real love towards anybody because of various events throughout his life. The way I see it, he can certainly feel lust, and on a good day, that heady rush you get when you realize that a semi-attractive person likes you. Make sense?**

**So to the person who wrote that review, **_**suck it.**_** I'm going to continue to post whether you like my fucking story or not.**

* * *

For a week and a half, Sakura stayed chained to her bed. Faceless minions were sent to bring food into her room and leave it just out of her reach. She had access to water via the bathroom sink, but there was no edible source of nutrition in her room to speak of. If she cracked and begged for the food left for her, the Joker won. But according to the men sent in with the food trays each morning and evening, she didn't make a sound or move at all, just kept her knees to her chest and her head buried in her forearms, and the trays always came back to the kitchen the way they went out.

This simply would not do. He despised weakness, but it was a personal hobby of his to shatter spirits, and she was tougher than most. The few other hostages he'd kept long enough to try this little experiment on had broken within a day, two days tops. This woman had lasted eleven. So the Joker decided it was time to move on to the next step.

Dinnertime had rolled around on the twelfth day. The Joker had a special tray prepared with twice the food he normally got for himself; a bowl for him and a bowl for her. She would splinter tonight if he had any say in it. Which he did.

He brought it up to the room he'd stored her in while the gang ate noisily down in the kitchen, even taking a moment to knock on the door, knowing full well her chains were not long enough for her to get up and reach it. Not that she would want to. He was simply mocking the fact that she was restrained and feigning gentlemanly conduct.

The door was kept unlocked and it opened easily, though it stuck a little in the frame; the whole house was damn old. Like all the lackeys said she would be, she was sitting on the floor, knees to her chest and her head buried in her forearms. She gave no indication that she knew he was there.

"Dinner's ready!" he cooed, sweeping into the room and to the table with flair a prima donna would be jealous of. He didn't expect her to move at this point and he wasn't disappointed. She remained as still as ever. Smirking as he rubbed his gloved hands together, the Joker looked down at the tray.

"Let's see what we've got. Oooh, chicken tempura and rice!"

Oh, he got a reaction. It was minuscule, but it was something. She had lifted her head and turned it to listen. And from the look in the one eye he could see, she was hungry. He began to eat, digging in lustily with appreciative groans punctuated by loud lip-smacks, satisfied when her lip curled and she turned back to stare at the opposite wall. This continued on for several more minutes before he decided that at last, she deserved a hint at what he wanted.

"You know," he said around a mouth full of food, "if you want some of this, you're going to have to get up from your little pity party over there and come join me, baby-cakes."

She didn't move, as he expected. He knew her resolve was crumbling, however, when he saw her tongue poke out to lick her lips. She was thinking about it. His smirk grew wider when her arm twitched, as if she were about to stand up but then thought better of it. He found it difficult to suppress the giggle that rose in his throat, but managed it, and shrugged.

"Fine by me," he said. "Guess that just means I get more."

That did it. She was on her feet in a flash. Her eyes were on him, glancing at him warily, as if gauging to see if he would attack her again or not. He stared, his goal to intimidate her as much as possible. It took a few moments of her standing there awkwardly and him staring her down before she steeled herself and inched her way forward, over the bed and to the chair opposite him, her chains clanking as she went . He could almost literally see her gather her courage before sitting down and it gave him a little thrill to think that he had such an effect on her. But she still didn't reach for her bowl.

Oh, this was just too good of an opportunity to goad her to let go. "What?" he said, leaning back in his chair, arms out to the side in a questioning gesture. "Am I just so handsome you've completely forgotten your appetite? Or is it the scars again?"

The Joker was pleased to note that angry tears were beginning to form in her sky-blue eyes as she snatched up her bowl and fork and began to eat slowly, almost self-consciously. She was just so much fun to play with!

He watched her eat until she'd finished and set her bowl down back on the table, her hands folded neatly in her lap, like a lady. But she was tense, which presented a decent opportunity to pick at her again. So he got up, slid his way over to stand in front of her, and bent down until his face was just inches from hers.

His voice was a low, husky rumble, as he said, "So you're a proper lady, eh, beautiful? Well, I like ladies, I cannot deny, but I'll tell you what I really like. I like those girls that…"

He was promptly cut off as she slapped him hard across the face. He had bitten his tongue as she did it, so he began to giggle as he felt blood begin to pool at the back of his mouth. Cracking his jaw, he turned his head back around to discover that she had squirmed out from under him and stood on the far end of the room like she had a week and a half prior, panting.

"The kitten has claws," he sneered at her, advancing on her menacingly. She was scared, he could tell that easily, but she still had an animalistic snarl on her face which told him she wasn't the type that would kneel and submit to him without a fight. He found himself wishing that he'd picked her up years ago. Her body was taut, in a fighter's stance; it made him wonder what kind of childhood she might have had. Most women he had ever come across would just cry and whine in a corner and beg for his mercy (which he never gave). But she was a fighting tiger.

He liked that. A lot.

At just the last second, he lunged at her, attempting to grab the scruff of her neck again and force her against the wall. It was simply animal instinct that caused people to freeze when they felt their backs touch something when they were being threatened. It was a fact that the Joker knew very well. But she moved quickly, faster than she should have been able to in her state, to duck out of his way and throw her shoulder into his stomach. Of course, he had anticipated this happening (he was the Joker after all) and managed to sidestep in time to avoid her. She landed on the floor, the breath rushing out of her as she did, and he straddled her back as he had before, a knife to her cheek. But she struggled on anyway.

Grinning, the Joker admired how strong her spirit was, tracing his blade softly along the line of her jaw, before saying, "You're much too pretty to be used as something so lowly as bait or a pawn, pet. I think I'll keep you for myself."

He reveled in the look of disgusted fear that briefly crossed her beautiful features before it disappeared behind a mask of ire. She would be so much fun to break.


	4. He's Just A Man

**A/N: So FoxBourne basically harassed me (not really) into updating this chapter. :P I'm doing this for you, dear. APPRECIATE. XD **

**Disclaimer: blah blah, he's not mine, guess who is. :P**

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The next morning found Sakura whimpering in her bed, nursing a massive headache. There was no light in her room, thanks to the lack of windows, so she knew it wasn't a migraine, but it sure as hell felt like one, that oh-so-familiar feeling of having been shot in the head. Her thoughts were fuzzy and she was having a hard time making sense of any of them as she lay curled up under her comforter. But something was off.

Oh, she remembered. She couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but when she'd lost consciousness one way or the other, she hadn't been in bed.

Crap. She hadn't been in bed because the Joker had choked her until she'd passed out as he straddled her back. Son of a….

The sound of the door to her bedroom creaking open and then closed caused her to freeze. Who in the hell was there and why? A cold surge of fear flooded her belly, making her curl in to a tighter ball. Flashes of the Joker's face invaded her mind: that cold, hard smirk, the arrogant twist to his lips, and the dangerous sheen he had in his dark eyes that told her that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Curiously enough, the light flicked on in the bathroom and even from under the blankets, Sakura could hear the water running in the sink. Nobody but the Joker had the key to her room, and why would he want to use her bathroom anyway? He had his own. So she very cautiously peeked over the edge of her comforter.

The door was mostly closed; she could only see a sliver of light between the aged white wood and the jamb. There had to be somebody there. Doors didn't just open and close on their own and sinks didn't just turn on at a whim. So very cautiously, careful not to move her head or neck too much or make too much noise, she gingerly made her way out from under her covers and off the bed.

Her chains clinked together lightly as she crawled on her hands and knees towards her bathroom. She kept her eyes trained on the door, just in case of any sudden movement from inside. She knew she was too far to get back to her bed in time without getting noticed, but all the same, it was simply an instinctual thing. She didn't want to draw any attention to herself.

She was close enough then to be able to peep through the crack and look inside. Inside stood the Joker, but there was something shockingly different about him.

He wasn't wearing his makeup. And he was shaving.

It made no difference to her that he wore nothing but a towel draped loosely about his waist, or that his hair was really a dusty shade of gold without the green dye. Her attention was solely on his face. Without the garish white and red, his skin was a lovely olive sort of color that caught the light in the bathroom quite nicely. He had a strong chin and sturdy line to his jaw as well as high cheekbones, which she had never noticed before; the greasepaint took away from that. And he looked so much younger than he did when he wore his mask.

He was working his razor over the side of his neck she couldn't see, so she was free to admire him without the barrier of shaving cream. He really was quite attractive for such a cold-hearted killer.

And then it struck her.

_He's just a man._

Such a revelation had her gaping, sitting back on her ankles, staring. He killed for fun, he was insane, and he could bring Gotham to its knees and was well on his way to doing so, and yet beneath that hardened exterior, he was just a man. He was human like the rest of them.

However, she was jolted out of her musings when his dark eyes, oddly sunken in without his makeup, suddenly landed on her. Gasping, she quickly stumbled backwards, tangling in her chains a little, and slipped back into her bed, her heart pounding. God only knew what he would do to her now….

But nothing happened. He didn't come storming out with a knife in his hand, demanding to know why she was spying on him. The door shut and the lock clicked and that was it. She never did get to see him come out, his makeup fresh, and come over to examine her, his face tight with a mix of irritation and mild confusion, as the pain from her headache quickly drove her under the black veil of unconsciousness as soon as her head hit the pillow.


End file.
